


Confessio Amantis

by prettyfollies



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyfollies/pseuds/prettyfollies
Summary: Hannibal has his druthers, and his most promising protégé lives up to his potential.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	1. Errands in the Gloomy Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few errands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place immediately post-fall. There is brief discussion of Will's intent in tumbling them over the bluff, skip the 5th (last) section if that discussion will not sit well with you.

_O how unlike the place from whence they fell!_

_There the companions of his fall, o’erwhelmed_

_With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,_

_He soon discerns, and welt’ring by his side_

_One next himself in power, and next in crime . . ._

_-_ John Milton _, Paradise Lost_

Hannibal came to in a sudden snap of consciousness. His eyes remained closed, but the red tip of his tongue appeared briefly between his lips, testing the air. Salt. Rock. Gulls. Hearing only the rush of waves and his own blood, he rose to a sitting position, blinking once, calmly, as he took in the narrow, rocky shore. 

Will. He couldn’t be far. Alive, he’d be washed up nearby, perhaps in one of the shallow caves along the cliff face. Dead, bobbing among the rocks. Hopefully not too spoiled by the gulls and fish. But Will’s body would fight drowning, surely, once his mind was subdued.

His own wounds were painful but not insurmountable. The gunshot was the most serious, but not fatal if he could avoid infection. The pain was irrelevant. Hannibal stripped efficiently, bundling his trousers into the remains of his shirt and tying the arms diagonally across his torso. Jack would insist they search the coastline. Francis had followed them. Jack would not be more than a few hours behind.

He swam south, past a shallow cave and to the next strip of shore. There was no sign of Will-- in the dark he relied more on his nose and ears. On this side of the outcropping, the shores were wider, the bluff less high. Still daunting, but some long-forgotten soul had chiseled and worn a steep, shallow series of steps into the rock, and Hannibal had stored a small boat here, above the high tide line but loosely moored for good measure.

He removed the cover with some difficulty. Several hooks had rusted into place, and he made a mental tally against the caretaker. Worse, his fingers were too cold, and his mind was slowing too. He glanced up in the direction of the house, quickly inventorying the supplies there. No. Will must be found first. He would be cold too, and injured.

He launched the inelegant craft into the water, rowing quietly past the next outcropping, and the next. There he saw a dark mass half in the water, and, after a quick adjustment, lifted the oars as quietly as he could and allowed the boat to slide forward softly, the bottom gently scraping the sand.

He landed lightly and approached cautiously, but Will’s breathing told him he was unconscious. A quick exam revealed nothing urgent, certainly nothing that could be helped here, and so he settled Will’s limp form into the bottom of the boat, lightly fitting the arch of his foot against Will’s neck in case he should rouse unexpectedly and require restraint.

The sky was just beginning to lighten, now, and Hannibal needed to work quickly. He’d need his medical supplies, but then they’d need to rest and recover. Checking Will again and finding him no nearer to waking, Hannibal left him in the boat and climbed the narrow steps to collect the things they’d need. He applied a pressure bandage to his side, dressed, and collected the appropriate items in fewer than ten minutes.

They were soon on the water again, Will now in dry clothes and wrapped in a wool blanket with a heat pack nestled between the folds against his chest. Hannibal recalled the map of this stretch of coast with little effort, and directed them towards a private dock just past where he had found Will. Foolish, he thought, not to have collected the motorboat before returning to the house, but these errors only underlined the urgency of their situation. He transferred them into the larger boat and started the motor, pointing its bow northeast.

***

Will woke gently with the warmth of the sun on his skin. The sea was near. He winced, remembering Bedelia’s memoir: “knowing in some primal way that I was near the sea.” The room faded around him.

***

Jack stood quietly on the flagstones, staring down at the dark stains surrounding Dolarhyde’s corpse. Price, Zeller, and all the myriad personnel such a scene requires gave him as wide a berth as they could, doing their work without looking at him or speaking to him. His phone began to buzz.

“Jack.” Alana waited.

“They’re gone, Alana.”

“Do you know where?”

“No. But a small boat was stolen nearby. Where are you?”

“We decided it would be best to remove ourselves from view.”

“The hospital?”

“My purpose there was to guard the doors between Hannibal and the world, Jack. I failed. They will replace me, easily.”

“Hannibal will find you, unless Will can stay his hand.”

“He promised he would. Will may find himself thinking . . . differently. So many of us have, under Hannibal’s direction. But Margot and I will try to disappear. Goodbye, Jack.”

“Goodbye, Dr. Bloom.”

Zeller approached with a piece of folded paper. ‘Jack’ inscribed in that slanted script.

‘Is it I, God, or who that lifts this arm?’

***

“You are waking in a pleasant room, and you are not afraid, Will. You fear nothing, now.”

Will opened his eyes again, and it was evening. He was leaning back against a bank of pillows, too vulnerable. He tried to pull himself upright, but a hand on his chest weighed him back down. He looked down at it, and saw his own hand beyond it, lying on the coverlet next to his thigh. An IV needle was held to the back of his hand with a bit of medical tape- but he didn’t feel the typical pinch when he flexed his fingers. Odd.

“Tell me Will, do your wounds pain you?”

He looked for the familiar voice, but in turning his head found the hand on his chest again. He lost himself in the pattern on the sleeve: plum and gold lines weaving together delicately on a cream field.

“Will.” Now Hannibal was using that hand to turn his head gently, helping him to find his eyes.

Hannibal’s irises were maroon in the soft twilight. A question. What had it been? His throat was dry and still echoed the taste of blood.

Hannibal gently tipped a warm mug against his lips. Some kind of broth. After a few sips his eyelids began to fall again.

***

On the second evening Will truly woke. Hannibal must have eased up on the painkillers, he thought. There was much less fog, and considerably more soreness. His left forearm was in some kind of splint, and his cheek throbbed dully. He did not recognize the room, but from what he could see, it was not to Hannibal’s taste. An emergency lodging, then.

He suddenly noticed Hannibal in the doorway, holding a glass of clear water in one hand and watching Will’s face with his usual rapt intensity.

“You tried to rob the world of us, Will.”

“Yes,” Will croaked.

Hannibal sat beside the bed and handed Will the glass. The water was cool against his swollen soft palate. He looked up at Hannibal, still calm.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No, Will. You are a rare creature: more interesting alive than dead. Am I to understand we are now in agreement, on that subject at least?”

Will stared into those flat, dark eyes, and nodded.

“Yes.”  
  



	2. De Futuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They take a turn about the house like Regency aristocrats on a rainy day, and make firm plans.

The next time Will opened his eyes the morning light was hesitating between grey and gold. 

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Delaware.” Hannibal answered without looking up from his reading. He leaned diagonally across the loveseat a few feet from the bed.

“Whose house was this?” 

The past tense earned Will a slight smile. “I believe this house is let for short-term rentals. Since you are awake it would be wise for you to walk. You’ve been in bed for two days.” He rose and offered Will his hand.

Will kicked the covers off in a tangle, but couldn’t quite bring himself to take Hannibal’s hand. He stood too quickly and wobbled. Hannibal caught his good arm and steadied him.

“Not too much too soon, Will.” He spoke softly, and very slowly wrapped Will’s right arm around his left.

Will took a breath and acclimated to the contact. Then he registered that with his left wrist splinted and his right held by Hannibal, he was vulnerable. A stab of panic struck him, and he fought the impulse to duck sideways and bite Hannibal’s ear.

“No.” Hannibal was watching his expression with amusement. “You are not prey, and you are not cornered. I will let go of your arm if you ask me to. If you fall, I can catch you. It will be simpler if you do not have the opportunity to fall. I have my own wounds.”

With another deep breath Will resigned himself to being steered. 

“Where are we going?”

“For now, just up and down the landing. We must discuss the longer term. We should not stay here more than another day or two.”

“How’s your side?”

“It is uncomfortable, but it will heal.”

“Uncomfortable? You were shot.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. What’s wrong with my arm?” It hurt, a little.

“The swelling and your reactions during the exam suggest a small fracture. I cannot be certain without an X-ray.”

“Alright.” Will examined the pictures hung along the walls of the landing, then glanced over the railing towards the front door. It held no interest for him. His legs were a little stiff, but he felt steadier already.

“So. While my cheek heals. Where would we go?”

Hannibal turned them gently at the end of the landing. “If you wish to accompany me, I thought perhaps The Adirondacks.”

Will’s steps faltered.

“You want to take me leaf-peeping?”

“In an area used to tourists and part-time residents the locals will pay us less mind.”

“You’re the FBI’s most wanted. They’re probably fighting right now about where I belong on the list. Freddie must be having a field day. You think we can blend in with tourists?”

Hannibal smirked. “Outside of the FBI and the audience of TattleCrime, few people pay attention to such things. It is a good reason to avoid international travel and major hubs for the moment.”

“You should grow a beard.”

“I will not.”

“You’re too recognizable.”

“I will consider it. Would you like to rest while I prepare breakfast?”

Will was feeling tired again, the stronger painkillers not quite out of his system, and he allowed Hannibal to guide him back to bed.

***

In the evening Will found Hannibal in the kitchen. The appointments were far below his usual standard, but he appeared undeterred. His sleeves were rolled up, and he was slicing long strips of some kind of dough.

“Can I help?”

“You may pour two glasses of wine, and then you may sit.”

Will spotted a bottle on the counter, and rummaged about for a corkscrew, then for glasses. In a cupboard near the sink were several blue plastic cups, a cluster of mismatched coffee mugs, and one short glass with a Batman symbol etched clumsily into the side.

He decided on the Batman tumbler and a bright green mug with a daisy pattern. The daisies went to Hannibal.

Hannibal sipped from the mug without comment. 

“So.” Will began. “The Adirondacks.”

Hannibal waited and continued working.

“How would we . . . when do we leave?”

“You wish to join me?”

Will “Yes.”

“You’re certain?”

Will stared at his hands. He had teetered on this edge for so long, and had survived going over. Three times. He had already committed. There was no going back. His attempts at normalcy seemed increasingly desperate, now. There hadn’t been a way back, even before Dolarhyde. Not since Randall Tier. Not since Matthew Brown. Maybe not since Garret Jacob Hobbes.

“I’m certain.” He was mirroring. “I’m sure.”

“I’m glad, Will.” Hannibal stared at him till he made eye contact, held it, let it go.

“So, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow I would like to procure a few more supplies and a vehicle. We might leave the following day. We will make our plans after dinner.”

Will smiled. Hannibal never had permitted the discussion of tedious topics over dinner. For Hannibal, the details were tedious. The only question had been how far Will would go with him. And there was the truth. There hadn’t been a way back since Hannibal.

They ate and cleaned up the kitchen together, slotting the odd assortment of dishes into the cheap dishwasher. They sat in the living room and made their plans. It all felt so familiar. Variations on an old theme. Hannibal drew while Will read until his eyes began to droop. Then Hannibal suggested they go to bed, and Will froze, eyes snapped open. 

“You need rest, Will. You are healing.” Hannibal clarified.

Will slumped again, his hand rising his mangled cheek. Hannibal left his chair and walked to Will on the couch. 

“Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“It will be fine. Let me see.”

Will dropped his hand. Hannibal took his chin gently and tilted his cheek up and towards the lamplight.

“Another week of antibiotics. Ibuprofen for a few more days.” He pulled a small light from a pocket. “Open your mouth please. Mmmm. You’ll need to keep rinsing with warm saltwater. Twice a day. A few more days.” He tilted Will’s head back down till their eyes met. “Soon you will be a sight to behold.”

He let go and backed away before Will could respond.

“Bed.” Hannibal advised from a distance.

Will saw himself upstairs. In the bathroom he rinsed the wound in his mouth and swallowed his antibiotic and a few ibuprofen.

“What the doctor ordered.” He whispered mockingly at his reflection. It looked back at him earnestly.

He did not dream.


	3. Selva Oscura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change of scene.

“How long do you think, till someone finds the dinghy?” Will asked as Hannibal backed out of the driveway.

They hadn’t been bleeding much by the time they were in the jon boat, and it was easier to clean the aluminum. The dinghy’s gelcoat had worn down, badly, and he hadn’t had time to do much about the small but obvious bloodstains soaked into the fiberglass. He still had splinters reflecting light from his hands and clothes, and he was removing them with a wad of duct tape.

Hannibal eyed this procedure dubiously.

“Several days, if they connect it to us at all. I don’t believe they’ll be able to collect any usable samples or prints from the — dinghy.”

“Jack will know.” Will said mildly.

“Yes. Jack will know. It will be interesting to see whether he will continue to pursue me, knowing he has lost you. I’m certain the FBI will not support him.”

Will considered Jack’s breaking point. If it hadn’t been for Hannibal’s role in Bella’s life, if he and Jack hadn’t been friends, Jack might not have followed him to Italy. Jack cleaned up his own messes. Will was sure Jack would think of him as one of them.

“He’ll want to find me himself.”

“He wanted to find Ms. Lass, at first. Later it was easier for him to presume her dead, and so he did.”

Will continued to dab at his thighs with the duct tape. Jack had been more practical, then.

***

The first part of the drive was mostly quiet. Hannibal guided the radio from classical station to classical station, and neither of them felt any obligation towards small talk. Will watched the trees blurring past and dozed intermittently.

Near midday they stopped to eat the picnic lunch Hannibal had prepared. Their meals the last few days had been much less extravagant than those they’d shared at his home in Baltimore, but Hannibal could work wonders with a few simple ingredients.

“Why did you join the police?”

“The FBI turned me down.”

“In the end you turned them down.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Why did you join the police?”

“I studied criminal justice in college. When the FBI didn’t pan out I thought maybe I’d be an investigator, that I could make myself useful that way. It wasn’t like I thought. Teaching was better.”

“When did you first use your gift?”

“On a case?” Will was surprised at this sudden interest in the years before they’d met. Hannibal usually concerned himself with the present and the future. The past was only a lever.

“It was a missing person. He was young, but an adult, and they wait a few days before they consider someone really missing, you know. Even then they don’t spend too much time on it, unless there’s a reason to think someone took them.” He paused. Hannibal knew exactly. He ended awkwardly, “I found him.”

“How?”

“I went to his apartment. His roommate was worried. She didn’t mind leaving me in his room. He’d changed meds recently. He just got a little confused. He liked boats, like me. Two plus two is four.”

“His family was grateful?”

“His parents, yeah.”

“Your supervisor?”

“Thought I’d wasted time I could have spent doing something useful. I wasn’t supposed to look that hard. Let’s go?”

Hannibal nodded and helped gather the tupperware. There was no hurry.

***

They stopped at the last big box store before heading on to their newly rented home, and Hannibal purchased groceries for the next week along with basic housewares while Will waited in the car. His mangled cheek would draw too much attention, but he doubted Hannibal’s ability to negotiate the crowds and fluorescents and overflowing shelves without incident.

But Hannibal returned calm, and with a full cart and a local paper. Will took over unloading into the back of the car. His arm was still braced but he worried that Hannibal had taxed himself enough already. Groceries, warm clothes for both of them, a few pots and pans and dishes. Some bedding. Tucked between a towel and a duvet he discovered a telescoping fishing rod and some other basics. Not ideal, but practical. An unnoteworthy purchase. A few books, a sketchbook and a few pencils. His concerns about Hannibal making do without his boutique grocers and specialty paper suppliers were apparently unfounded.

“Thanks. For the gear.” Will said as he slid back into the passenger seat.

“You are very welcome. I’d hate for either of us to abandon our hobbies.”

They found their way fairly easily, considering. One wrong turn, a few miles where Will was sure they must have passed it, and they found themselves at a door with a key box. Will dialed in the code and found himself ushering Hannibal inside. He wasn’t sure, but he thought Hannibal looked pale. He wondered for the first time what would be left for him if the gunshot wound was more serious than Hannibal claimed.

***

When he opened his eyes the next morning he smelled coffee, and as he walked down the stairs he saw Hannibal’s head tilt gently, angling an ear in his direction.

“Good morning.” Hannibal spoke first, then turned fully. He looked perfectly well again.

“Good morning.”

“I’d like to continue yesterday’s conversation.”

They’d spent another quiet evening. Will had insisted on managing dinner, and unpacking their few purchases. The house had three bedrooms, and was furnished much more to Will’s taste than Hannibal’s, but as always, Hannibal appeared much more comfortable and sure than Will felt. He sat and tried to both brace himself and relax.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“You can’t.”

“Something to strive for.”

“Do or die for.” Will lilted.

“I applaud the spirit but do not recognize the tune.”

“Nevermind. Old movie. What do you want to know today?”

“I want to know how you came to work for Jack.”

“Why?”

“I believe that if we examine the circumstances that led you to the life you’d chosen, you’ll begin to see this is not a deviation from the right way. That other path, that was the deviation. You’ve killed three people. All arguably in self-defense. Your first steps. I would like for us to examine why it wasn’t more, sooner. You’ve unshackled yourself from your old bonds. Let us examine what they were made of, so they may not hold you again.”

Will leaned back and considered the implications of setting Hannibal loose in his mind. It was why he was here. Even in these last few days of mundane, earthly concerns, he was more himself than he ever was while away from Hannibal. He wanted to be still more himself. Why was he hesitating, then? Habit, maybe. The last breath before the plunge.

“When do we start?”

Hannibal smiled with that mix of pride and predatory anticipation that always caused a sharp twist somewhere between Will’s lungs.

“I thought this afternoon.”


	4. Actus Reus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Big Talk.

They settled into the living area, where Hannibal had rearranged the furniture somewhat. The coffee table had been moved aside and two chairs drawn close together in the center of the room.

Will sat facing the window. He could wait. This was Hannibal’s game, and he’d agreed to play, not to lead.

“When did you first use your gifts to solve a violent crime?”

The rabbit, Will thought. He laughed.

“Yes?”

“No, my first thought was- it doesn’t count.”

“I would very much like to hear about it.”

Hannibal looked interested and serious, decorum firmly in place. Will wondered if he could peel it back.

“It was a rabbit.”

“A rabbit?”

“When I was a kid. I had a friend, Katie. We were nine or ten I think? She was doing 4H, and she was raising a rabbit. It was her first time.”

“What kind of rabbit was it?”

“I don’t know. Brown. Nothing fancy. That was part of the problem. She knew she was raising it for meat, but when it was time to sell it she was heartbroken. She begged her parents to keep him instead, and they let her.” 

Will remembered the brown carpet in their living room, and Katie’s tired but kind mother always trying to do two things with one hand while holding the baby.

Hannibal heard affection for the girl, for her parents, even now. He watched Will rotate his bad shoulder minutely inside his shirt, the fabric holding its position as his skin whispered softly against it.

“Her dad was nice. Quiet, but nice. He’d let us help him with little projects. Hold the flashlight. Hand him tools. You know. We built the hutch together. But then they were going to move, and one day Katie went out to the hutch and it was pried open, and the rabbit was gone. They told her something must have gotten it, but I knew. I knew they’d gotten rid of him. Too inconvenient.”

“Did they eat him?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you think?”

“Her dad told us, while we were building the hutch, that his brother had raised rabbits. That they’d eaten rabbit sometimes, when he was a kid.”

“How hard it is to break our habits.” Hannibal smiled serenely.

Will looked him over again, weighing honesty as the flaying knife.

“Yes. With most creatures, once they’ve eaten something, it will always be seen as food. At least, it’ll have the potential of food. Mr. Parker didn’t see the rabbit only as food, but he knew it was an option. Knew it in a way Katie didn’t. I’ve seen it with insects, too. Some work more slowly on a kind of flesh they haven’t had before. Then they adjust. I believe people are the same.” He found Hannibal’s eyes and added, more quietly, “I believe you were the same.”

Hannibal’s smile stayed steady, and he didn’t move to respond.

“When did you first eat human meat?”

There was the smallest shift in Hannibal’s demeanor. The difference between being still and being frozen. It was the kind of thing Will tried to ignore in polite company, where it was rude to read body language so easily. Intrusive, to know so much.

“I’d like to know the parts I’m missing. How you see them.”

Hannibal considered whether Will’s path might be guided best by seeing his own. Something else flitted past. A desire, not a thought. He wanted to answer.

Will had watched something behind Hannibal’s eyes step away, then return.

“I do not know for certain, when the first time was.” He paused again. “During that winter I was rarely told precisely what I was eating.

“When I was a child there was trouble near our home. You’ve seen the castle, as it is now. Then it was still intact. We had some of the art. Furniture that had withstood centuries. Books. Treasures, to an outsider. That’s what my parents feared, that we would be targeted for our remaining luxuries. The swans in the moat. 

“They took myself and my sister, and her nurse. We retreated to the hunting lodge in the forest. From what I overheard, they hoped to wait out the winter, that come spring the political climate might shift with the weather. It had become standard practice in our family in recent decades. I think my father and grandfather must have been very clever in their alliances, as well, to have kept so much for so long. I believe they’d even recovered some things that had gone with the Germans.”

Hannibal told him, then. How they were found in the forest. The intruders had killed his father, and the nurse had gone for help that never came. There had been too many of them, and they’d run out of food. By the time his mother died they were living off of what they could catch. The last, scrawny deer. 

He and Mischa had found another child’s clothing in the old stable. Then there were fights among the men. One of them disappeared.

“Sometime that winter, whether it was the child we never saw or the man who disappeared or someone else. That winter I ate human meat. We all did.”

There was more, but Will could work slowly.

“Hannibal?”

“Yes?”

“When did I first have human meat?”

Hannibal resumed his smile.

“That first morning we spent together. I brought you breakfast.”

Will could accept the gesture, now, as Hannibal’s attempt to reach out. The grand society dinners, even the meals with Jack had been taunts, demonstrations of power. But on that morning Hannibal had been extending a genuine invitation. There was no ostentation or mockery in his tone or in the simple protein scramble. Even then he had hoped he might elevate Will.

***

Later, drowsing by the fireplace, Will picked up an old thread. He had tipped sideways on the sofa, legs still stretched out in front of him.

“I left something for you, you know. At the castle. I knew you wouldn’t be back, but-”

Hannibal felt his pulse speed, slightly, before willing it back under control.

“What did you leave?”

“The body. The prisoner. I didn’t leave him as Chiyoh left him.”

“How did you leave him?”

Will recognized that hunger. He’d satisfied it before.

“I left him as a firefly.”

Hannibal rose from his chair and came to sit cross-legged before Will, resting a hand on his shin.

“Tell me how.”

Will told some parts through gritted teeth, but the final product was described with reserved eloquence. Hannibal was a rapt audience, and he savored every word. He watched in silence as Will drifted from detailing his firefly into contemplating their fire, and then as his eyes flitted closed.


End file.
